


Torture

by LavernaG



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Curses, Second Wizarding War, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavernaG/pseuds/LavernaG
Summary: Minerva McGonagall is held hostage and tortured by the Dark Lord. Severus Snape has to balance his loyalties between two sides. One-Shot.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Torture

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything for this fandom in a long time, and after just recently falling under its spell again, I decided to write the first thing that came into my head. As you will see anon, the first thing that did was quite grim, but I'm sure I'll get back to brighter topics soon.
> 
> This is a one-shot and if some details remain unclear to you, don't worry, I'm not entirely sure of everything myself. All I know is that this takes place sometime during the Second Wizarding War and is not quite canon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment if you do! :)

Lord Voldemort loved holding people hostage. Not as much as he enjoyed torturing them, of course. But one did not necessarily exclude the other, he reminded himself as he pointed his wand at the woman chained loosely to the wall in front of him. A red jet of light shot from the tip of his wand at the woman and her body started convulsing.

The Dark Lord did so enjoy watching his victims struggle, and this witch did not disappoint him. She was tough, tougher than anyone he had ever had the pleasure of torturing, in fact. He watched with an excited and hungry grin as her lean body shook, rattling the chains on her arms. She had warned him she would not be easy to break—all the more entertainment for the Lord. She had clenched her jaw the moment his first curse had hit her and she hadn't made a sound since, refusing to plead with him or to voice her agony. Her legs were shaky and yet she was determined not to fall. She still held her head high and glared at him with her catlike eyes, although angry tears had started streaming down her pale cheeks.

He would relish this memory throughout the war. Having such a powerful and esteemed witch at his mercy was a rare treat, one which he could rub under his enemy's long thin nose for the fleeting remainder of the old wizard's days. And defeating his enemy's closest confidant would send everyone in the wizarding world a fearsome message, too. No one was safe from him.

An unfamiliar exhilarating thrill rushed through the Dark Lord's body when the witch's knees buckled underneath her and she fell onto them. Nothing else in her posture changed as the effects of the curse slowly faded away, but the Dark Lord had won. And what a sweet victory it was to see the most powerful witch of their time kneeling in front of him!

She drew in a laboured breath of air before Voldemort raised his wand again. He was unable to look away from her fascinating eyes, which glimmered with hatred and pain. She would have made a valuable ally if she had chosen a different path. A whispered incantation sent the strong witch smashing against the wall behind her. With a pained grimace she slumped to one side and her long ebony hair, released from its tight bun, fell over her shoulders.

It's always good to have the upper hand in a war—even better if it's such a vital one. The Dark Lord muttered another curse and, slowly raising his wand, dragged the witch up from the floor and against the cold damp wall. He knew that he could either kill the witch and thus rid himself of a powerful enemy or he could use her to manipulate the witch's master. He stepped up close to her and could nearly feel the strong loathing radiating off of her. His spell kept her from moving and he revelled in the awareness of her desire to fight back and also her maddening inability to. The Dark Lord loved power, and this woman reeked of it.

Voldemort raised his hand and traced his long finger down from the witch's pointed chin to her exposed collarbone. "Isn't Dumbledore lucky?" he hissed tauntingly and thought he felt a shudder under his fingertip. His nail reached a shallow wound lashed across the witch's chest and with a grin he pinched a piece of her skin between two nails and tore it off of her body. He was rewarded with a thrilling sensation of accomplishment when the witch momentarily squeezed her eyes shut. Voldemort could see why she was so valued by her master—even face to face with the Dark Lord himself she had the guts to keep calm and resist him.

He flicked his wand and the witch fell into a heap at his feet. A loud crack echoed off the walls of the empty dungeon and Voldemort grinned. The witch had fallen onto her wand hand and now tried arduously to shift her weight off of it. He would have loved to stay and torment her all night, but alas, he heard quiet footsteps stopping in the doorway.

The Dark Lord turned unhurriedly and studied the wizard who had entered. He was one of his most trusted and most useful Death Eaters, and Voldemort knew that he was also the cleverest of them. The young wizard's eyes flicked to the woman on the floor and back to his master's face. Nothing in his serious face changed, and in his low apathetic voice he said, "You called for me, my Lord?"

"Yes, Severus," Lord Voldemort hissed calmly and nodded towards the witch. "A friend of yours, I presume?"

The young wizard replied without hesitation. "Colleague, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort tilted his head to the side. "I see," he said, stepping away from the weakened witch. The Death Eater's readiness to assure his master of his unwavering loyalty seemed the slightest bit suspicious, and he would not have doubt lurking in his counsel. "Then, as one of my most valuable followers, perhaps you would care to have some _fun_ as well?" He gestured invitingly towards the witch, his eyes fixed on the young wizard's face.

For the briefest of moments he didn't react, but then with the confidence of a true Death Eater he nodded. "Thank you, my Lord." The wizard strode purposefully across the room and stopped a few feet from the witch.

The Dark Lord watched greedily as the young man raised his wand and muttered a curse that was unfamiliar to him. A flash of orange instantly wrapped itself around the woman and Voldemort was stunned by the unexpected sound of the strong witch's blood-curdling scream. The Dark Lord watched, impressed, as the corners of his young follower's mouth twitched upwards and he lowered his wand. The witch fell limp onto the floor.

Voldemort felt a curious tingling in his stomach, in his fingertips. He wanted to hear that uniquely fulfilling sound again. It had quenched a strange thirst inside him that he hadn't realised he felt. His ears rung with the long-subdued echo of the delicious scream, and he licked his dry lips.

He studied the young wizard, who hadn't moved, for a long minute. "Severus." Two black eyes met his and Voldemort softly ordered, "Make sure she doesn't die. Nothing more."

* * *

She knew he must have answered and she knew what he must have said, but she couldn't be sure if she had heard it. Her ears did catch the light tapping of the Dark Lord's retreating footsteps against the cold floor that had punched a gory bruise against her cheekbone. Everything hurt. Although she wanted desperately to show him that she was still up to the fight, Minerva was too weak to move.

There was a long moment of silence, and Minerva cursed herself in her head. She had been insanely careful, frantically determined not to give in—she had managed to endure all of Voldemort's curses without giving him the pleasure of hearing her agony. And then she had succumbed to her friend's brief spell! Granted, it had been remarkably more excruciating than she had anticipated; however, Minerva was still frustrated with herself.

She heard a soft shifting of robes and her eyes flew open instantly. Severus was crouching close to her and had drawn his wand. It took Minerva quite a while to realise that his lips were moving and that he was probably analysing her injuries. After a minute or two he rose again and, without looking her in the eye, turned on his heel and exited the same way the dark wizard had.

Minerva wanted to say something—anything to make him stay. He was the one person in this snake pit she knew she could trust. Even though he had hurt her and even though the look in his eyes had been as cold as the Dark Lord's touch, she knew he had been gentle with her. She had wanted to cry out to him for help when she'd seen him enter. It was a good thing she had stopped herself—showing fear in front of the Dark Lord was something quite different from feeling it, and she didn't want to make this straining charade any harder for Severus.

She felt weak and nauseous, and her eyes closed of their own volition. She tried to stay alert but the complete silence of the dungeon acted like a maddening lullaby until Minerva wasn't certain whether she was awake or not.

The stone floor was cold and damp, her torn robes left her shivering. It felt as if every muscle in her body was on fire and tiny needles pricked into her scalp. She could taste and smell blood even though she couldn't be sure where it had come from. A sharp pain stung her eyes and she wondered if she was still crying. Her right hand had remained in its twisted position ever since she'd most likely broken her wrist by landing on it. Her heart was pounding wildly, her lungs hurt with each shallow breath, and something cool and smooth was pressed against her lips.

Startled out of her helpless stupor, Minerva winced and forced herself to open her eyes. Severus was kneeling before her again, this time with a small vial in his hand, and currently trying to pour some greenish potion into her mouth. Fighting against every natural instinct, she took a sip and felt the warm beverage almost burn her throat when she swallowed it. His master had forbidden him from treating her injuries, and knowing he would never disobey his direct orders, she reckoned this had to be rather a weak potion.

Minerva snapped her head to the side, and without really knowing where she got the strength to do so, hauled herself up to a sitting position by the chain still fastened to her left arm. By the time she could slouch back against the wall without being afraid she would fall over again, Minerva was breathing heavily.

She looked into Severus's black eyes, now frighteningly close to her own, and with great effort replaced the desperate and agonized plea in her gaze with a determined look of understanding. He was not allowed to show any emotion now. The slightest slip could prove his undoing, she knew that. The Dark Lord had placed them in this situation to test him, and no matter how much pain she was in, Minerva could not ruin things for him now.

On the other hand she could not let on how profoundly she trusted him. If anyone was watching them, which she didn't doubt for a second, she had to show them that she was still fighting. Instead of accepting the vial Severus was holding out to her, she raised her good hand and grasped the wand he had pointed at her chest.

For a moment she felt the enormous surge of magic radiating off of his wand and the means to her escape from this hell seemed in easy reach. If she could just wring the wand out of Severus's hand, she could free herself, and possibly even make her egress. She banished the thought as quickly as it had surfaced in her mind. It wasn't possible and it wasn't rational. Had she even tried anything suchlike, Severus would have been forced to curse her again. Severus's grip was steely; she could hardly even move his hand. After a lengthy and intense staring contest, Minerva's hand dropped from his wand and the witch thought she saw something in Severus's expression shift, as if he were relieved by her decision.

All of a sudden, Minerva noticed that her breathing wasn't quite as laboured as it had been only moments ago. Her eyes widened just a little when she realised the possibility of Severus having performed some non-verbal healing spell on her under the pretence of fighting with her over the wand. She couldn't read his expression at all—he was an expert at what he did, after all—so she might have been mistaken. Severus placed the vial on the floor beside her and, holding her gaze, stood up.

"Drink it," he told her levelly. "The Dark Lord wants you to live through the night." He turned, and Minerva savoured the familiar sight of his billowing black robes when he left.

As soon as she was alone, Minerva was seized by the sensation that she was being watched. The dungeon was dark, a dim ray of light poured from the small cellar window in the opposite wall over Minerva's prison. She glanced at the vial at her side, uncertain of whether she was supposed to drink its contents or not. Severus's words were more than likely the words of his master and yet Minerva was inclined to believe that he would not give her a potion that would harm her. The Dark Lord didn't expect her to trust Severus after this, so drinking his potion could inspire doubt in the young wizard's loyalty—or her sane judgement. It was a mess.

After a few minutes of meticulous reasoning Minerva came to the conclusion that anyone this close to crossing the threshold of death would leap at the chance to live long enough to see another sunrise, and so she reached down for the vial. However, she hadn't realised how violently her body was shivering. She drew in a sharp gasp when her trembling fingers knocked the vial over and the thick greenish liquid flowed out onto the stone floor.

* * *

Minerva could only recall fleeting moments of the next morning. She had woken up in the cold dungeon, thinking there wasn't one part of her body that wasn't aching from the horrendous night before. She remembered seeing someone's pointed black boots approaching her, clicking against the floor, each sound sharp like a glass vial shattering against the stone. She did remember throwing Severus's offered vial across the room in frustration.

The person with the pointed boots had used some sort of curse on her—that she remembered. And a short while later she had held her breath while carefully picking tiny shards of glass out of her bloodied shoulder. She remembered three wands being pointed at her, and being dragged through a spacious house and into a room she could almost believe was illuminated by sunlight.

After that there were only mere glimpses of the Dark Lord's face, of his long bony hands, the occasional brush of his dry black robes and the soft hiss of his incantations. Minerva knew she was in for a great many more memories, which would probably come to haunt her both at day-time and most definitely in her dreams. She knew she had tried to resist his curses, had refused to break down in front of him. She must have. But she also knew that she had failed. He wouldn't have stopped if she hadn't given in eventually. He wouldn't have made the deal she was witnessing now.

She couldn't be certain how long they'd been in the Forbidden Forest because she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. It would have been so much easier for her if she could have allowed herself to fall asleep, but she couldn't. It was imperative that she knew what was happening.

She was surrounded by five or six Death Eaters and she could see the Dark Lord standing a few feet ahead of them. From the angle from which she could see them Minerva detected she must have been placed on a stretcher of some sort and levitated here. Indeed, she felt her left arm dangling limply below her; she didn't quite have the strength to lift it back up.

She thought she had simply blinked, but already there was quite a different picture in front of her eyes. She hadn't moved but, as if the mere presence of a great wizard could bring along a miracle, Minerva felt better the moment she laid eyes on Albus Dumbledore. He was standing in front of the Dark Lord, so close Minerva thought if she could reach out, she could just about touch his white beard. A large tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled into her hair.

She wanted desperately now to keep the precious image of the dear wizard before her eyes, but already they were closing again. When she could see again, the two great wizards had stepped closer to each other, and Minerva noticed that Albus was not alone. She couldn't quite recognise any of the people standing behind the headmaster but she knew they had to be members of the Order. Her blurry vision allowed her to register the headmaster handing some sort of a package to the Dark Lord.

Then smooth and warm darkness enveloped her in itself and Minerva forgot to worry about what was happening around her. It couldn't concern her if she was asleep—or unconscious. Suddenly she felt a strange, eerie lightness in her stomach and the next moment she crashed heavily onto the ground. Her head bounced upwards, sending a second jolt of numbing pain down her spine.

Complete silence and stillness surrounded her and Minerva knew she wasn't breathing. It was all right, for a moment she didn't feel like she needed to. It was easier if she didn't. In this fleeting heavenly moment there were no problems in her world.

And then, as if to humour someone's cruel whim, a deep intake of breath forced itself down her throat. All the pain returned and Minerva felt unbearable sadness clenching her heart. At this terrible moment she didn't want to live any more.

A large gentle hand caressed the side of her face and Minerva thought she could hear her own name being whispered somewhere behind that veil of silence. She felt the tickle of a soft beard against her bare arm. Delicate female hands placed her arms over her stomach with tender care. But as pleasant as their touch was, Minerva wished they would leave her alone.

* * *

She was awakened by a slicing pain in her right wrist and for a full minute since opening her eyes Minerva couldn't understand where she was. The high ceiling reminded her of her home but she couldn't believe she was back at the castle. The long shadows stretching across the floor of the large room reminded her of Death Eaters and she thought she could see them creeping closer to her bed.

For some reason she was, indeed, lying in a bed. It was soft and it smelled nice, and when she turned, the ache in her limbs she remembered so vividly was dull, as if caused by old injuries. She realised she wasn't wearing much more than a white nightgown, but also that her right wrist had been bandaged up and that there wasn't a scratch on the pale skin of her shoulder, which glinted in the clear moonlight. In the same ray of light she caught sight of her wand lying on a bedside table. It took strenuous effort and a good three minutes for her to reach up to clasp it and bring it back onto the bed with her. Immediately she felt a relieving surge of warm magic flow through her arm.

In a while Minerva dared to raise her eyes to study her surroundings once more, and with a start she noticed someone sitting, asleep, in the shadows by her bedside. She recognised her dear friend Poppy Pomfrey. So she must have been at Hogwarts! With that overwhelming piece of news she succumbed to a new wave of weariness and the school matron faded from her view.

* * *

Minerva had been awake since sunrise and up until noon Poppy had refused to let anyone see her. The healthy dose of irritation Minerva felt at her friend's stubborn rules was a welcome and familiar feeling. Although she could barely lift her head enough to down the many potions the school matron had insisted she take, she had already managed to keep up a feisty argument concerning her health for an entire quarter of an hour—a sure sign of a speedy recovery in both of the witches' eyes.

Minerva didn't dare ask how much time had passed since the meeting in the Forbidden Forest or if, in fact, that hadn't been nothing but a peculiar dream. She did remember never wanting to wake up again, and the incredulity of her capability of believing such a thought both astonished and frightened her.

At noon, finally, Poppy informed her that if Minerva promised to stay in bed, she would let a particularly insistent visitor into the Hospital Wing. Minerva would have been ready to promise anything to see another soul, to be convinced that Poppy's precious care was not just some cruel illusion of her mind. However, the man who entered after the matron had retreated into her office was not the old wizard Minerva had been hoping to see.

His gait was unhurried but determined, his expression hard but not void of emotion. He didn't look at Minerva until he had reached her bedside, but when he did, it was almost as if he wasn't the same man who had tortured her in that dark dungeon. Minerva wasn't certain if his face was even capable of showing any feelings other than convinced and serious boredom; however, his eyes, as if to make up for the lack of facial impression, were extraordinarily expressive. In them right now Minerva could see deep sorrow and regret bordering on self-loathing.

Minerva offered him a gentle smile although she didn't expect it to make him feel any less guilty. When Severus spoke, his voice was hoarse and low, "Forgive me, Minerva. There has never been a moment when I wanted to hurt the Dark Lord as much as I did that night. It may not seem so but there have been very few acts I have had to perform which I abhor more than what I did to you."

Minerva closed her eyes for a lengthy moment. She knew with every fibre of her being that Severus hadn't enjoyed what they had had to endure that night. The orange gleam of his curse and his shadowed, stony face flashed through her mind, and in a most annoyingly trembling voice she replied, "You were very kind, considering."

Severus paled visibly at her words and his firmly set shoulders slumped slightly. He looked at the wand Minerva still held in her hand rather than into her large curious eyes, and his mouth twitched as if he were holding back some words that wanted to come out whether he gave them permission or not. "Thank you for trusting me," he muttered under his breath, "when even I wouldn't have." There was a beat of stunned silence before he gave a curt nod, and without looking back at Minerva's astonished face, he turned swiftly on his heel and swept out of the Hospital Wing.

Minerva turned her head on the pillow, so that her eyes could follow the wizard out. She was left to ponder the kind of emotional torment her young friend constantly had to suffer through and quickly came to the realisation that her harrowing rendezvous with the Dark Lord was nothing compared to Severus's torture. But would he ever forgive _them_ for putting him through this terrible experience?

A gentle tapping on the large oak doors of the Hospital Wing stopped her dejected train of thought. The tall old wizard she had been longing to see entered the room and, reaching her arm out towards the dear man, Minerva felt new, unexpected tears on her cheeks.

_The End_


End file.
